A point is finite, a line infinite,
and when these intersect in a life spark,
birthed from this conflicted coordinate,
a point of light flares in the constant dark.

A woman, a man in conjoined rapture,
and when upon intersex of these two,
born from a pricked egg’s sensuous capture,
a gift of life is conceivable too.

A place in the back of the neck, the spine,
and when for some inner sect devotees,
sensed from an ever so real no mind,
a fantasy of existence empties.

The moment a snake swallows its tail,
the imponderable has no more veil.